


lantern on a hill

by citrina



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ambassador Zuko, M/M, Post-War, zukka - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27692957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citrina/pseuds/citrina
Summary: Zuko becomes the ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe. Or, how to fall in love in three easy steps.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Bato/Hakoda (Avatar), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 278





	1. the heart believes in something more than what's been said

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, the comics don't exist, but otherwise it's pretty much canon compliant up to the end of the series. It's set about a year after the war, so Sokka and Zuko are about 17. I always thought it was a weird amount of pressure to make a teenager (especially one like Zuko!) the absolute ruler of a nation fresh from war, so here's my solution, with a Zukka twist of course. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> The title is from the song Lantern by the Ballroom Thieves. I highly recommend you go give it a listen!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar: The Last Airbender or any official affiliated content. If I did, Bakoda would be canon.

_you’re shining still_

_you’re a lantern on a hill_

_and I would burn into the ground_

_to take you home_

_\-- “Lantern” by The Ballroom Thieves_

I.

Eleven months into Zuko’s reign as Fire Lord, he sits against the edge of a bathtub and watches his blood swirl down the drain. It’s the same bright red as the curtains on his ridiculous, huge, four-poster bed. 

When Zuko had fallen off the bed, he’d gotten tangled in the curtains and cut by the glass from the shattered window. The servants will wash the curtains later. The blood blends in anyway. There’s probably something poetic in that, but Zuko is too tired to figure out what.

“The assassin has been successfully subdued, Your Majesty.” One of the guards enters, bowing low. Zuko sits for a second, wondering what that means. Subdued how? He’s learned not to ask.

“Thank you, Shoma,” he says to the guard. “Please tell the other guards that they can go now.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Shoma stumbles up, bowing again. Zuko wants to be angry at Shoma, for being such a sniveling little handmaid of a guard who couldn’t even stop an attack. Angry at the assassin, for being the fourth failed attempt in the past month. Angry at his uncle and friends, for leaving him alone. Angry at himself, for being the ruler of a nation on the brink of collapse. 

But he mostly just feels empty.

For a brief moment, he wishes the assassin had put up a better fight. Smashing in through a window and knocking Zuko off the bed was, as far as assassinations go, fairly uncreative. Zuko likes a scuffle as much as anyone who’s lived through a war, and the adrenaline rush that comes from a good clean fight wouldn’t be unwelcome.

It’s sort of sad that he feels that way, now that Zuko’s thinking about it.

The cut on his arm isn’t deep, but it’s certainly bleeding a lot. The servant treating it looks nervous as she holds out a pair of what look like large pliers.

“This may be painful, Your Majesty,” she says. “I need to remove the glass from your arm and then give you stitches.”

“Just get it over with,” Zuko grunts, gripping the edge of the bathtub with his other hand. “It can’t be any worse than getting shot up by lightning every few weeks.”

The servants stare at him in silence. Shoma the guard coughs once.

“That was a joke,” Zuko sighs. “Just do it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the healer says, brandishing her pliers. She grasps his arm with a steel grip and, before Zuko can react, pushes the pliers right into the cut. White-hot pain flashes through Zuko. He gasps, barely preventing a burst of flame from escaping his hand.

“Got it,” the servant declares, pulling a shard of glass from Zuko’s cut. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

As the servant washes and dresses the cut, Zuko stares at the pink bathwater. He wishes his friends were here. Katara would heal this cut far faster than any Fire Nation healer could, and Toph would tell some crazy story that would distract him from the pain. Aang would remind Zuko of all the good that’s happened since his coronation, and Suki would make sure he was hiring qualified security guards for the next attack. Mai and Ty Lee would go after the assassin themselves, saving Zuko the trouble of having to arrest him. And Sokka would… Zuko doesn’t know what Sokka would do. Probably crack some jokes or give Zuko a hug. Make him feel safe. 

But all he’s got is a room full of servants who worship the ground he stands on, and can’t do anything to fight back against the countless citizens who come to kill him.

When Uncle had left the Fire Nation to reopen his tea shop in Ba Sing Se, Zuko hadn’t faulted him. Uncle had done so, so much for Zuko. The least Zuko could do in return was let his uncle have a relaxing retirement. But now he feels abandoned. Uncle could have taken the throne, kept Zuko from this endless cycle of assassination attempts and fruitless council meetings and ignored reform bills. Everyone in the Fire Nation had loved Uncle, up until his arrest; opinions vary wildly on the once-banished prince-turned-Fire Lord. It’s impossible not to resent him, and guilt boils deep in Zuko’s stomach.

“Your Majesty?” the healer asks, gathering up her medical supplies. “If you’d like, you’re free to go back to bed.” Zuko glances down at his arm, now neatly bandaged. 

“Thank you,” he says to the healer. “What’s your name, again?”

“Li Ren,” the healer responds with a respectful bow. 

“Thank you, Li Ren.” Zuko rubs his good eye. He’s not going to be able to sleep again tonight, but the least he can do is thank his waitstaff.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Li Ren says, straightening up. She still doesn’t look Zuko in the eye. He knows many of the servants are nervous around him, partly because of the unfortunate history of palace staff under his father and grandfather, and partly because his burn makes them uncomfortable. Zuko never knows what to say to them, anyway; unless he needs something specific, he always feels a bit like a jerk, ordering them around. 

“I’m going to be up writing a letter,” Zuko says to no one in particular. “Please don’t disrupt me.” 

The guards and healers seem to take that as a dismissal. Zuko watches Shoma and Li Ren lead their teams out of the room. Once they’re gone, Zuko slumps down at his desk. For a moment, he just sits there. 

Then he picks up a brush and starts writing.

  
  


.oOo.

  
  


Two weeks later, Zuko’s stepping onto an airship headed for the South Pole.

He waves goodbye to his uncle as the door to the airship closes. He hopes Iroh isn’t too serious about instating that National Tea Celebration Day he was talking about. But as the airship rises and he watches Iroh’s waving form shrink, the layers of stress and nerves seem to slide off his shoulders. He’s going to the Southern Water Tribe. He’s going to see his friends.

After the last assassination attempt, he’d written his uncle. He’d been exhausted and upset, past the point of caring what he sounded like. He’d needed out. Uncle must have noticed something in the letter, because two days later he’d been at the palace doors.

While the regent Iroh leads the Fire Nation from home for an indefinite amount of time, the Fire Lord is off to a long diplomatic meeting in the South Pole. That’s what Zuko’s insane press people have told the nation, anyway. He’s not leaving behind his duties completely, of course. Officially, he’s going to the South Pole to sort out further peace agreements, to cement trade and other administrative things with Chief Hakoda. Unofficially, he’s taking the role of an ambassador to the Southern Water Tribe while Iroh acts as Fire Lord.

Zuko can’t remember the last time he took a break. It’s incredibly freeing.

The airship ride is long and boring. The only other people on board are a few of Zuko’s guards (including that imbecile Shoma, since Zuko couldn’t think of a reason to fire him) and the airship crew. Zuko spends most of the time filling out paperwork. He plays one lame game of Pai Sho with Shoma, and defeats the guard soundly. Compared to Uncle or Azula, it’s hardly a challenge. He’s full of jittery energy the whole time, unable to sleep. When the airship makes it to the South Pole about six hours later, he’s practically bursting with nerves.

What if Sokka and Katara see him and don’t want him there? What if they’ve gone back to their own lives, and have no more interest in high-strung, painfully awkward Zuko? He doesn’t think he could take it. 

It’s dark when Zuko steps off the airship, surrounded on both sides with his guards. The dock is silent except for the soft ripple of the water around them. The air is still and frigid.

“Everyone’s probably sleeping,” Zuko says to the guards. “Let’s stay on the airship until daybreak.”

“Your Majesty, it’s the middle of the afternoon,” one guard says nervously. Huang, Zuko thinks his name is. Or is it Wong? 

“What do you mean? It’s completely dark out,” Zuko scowls, tightening his cloak around himself. The cold reminds him of his last, extremely embarrassing, visit to the North Pole. He’d accidentally mentioned his underwater actions of last spring’s siege to Chief Arnook, who’d raised an eyebrow and treated Zuko with thinly-veiled hostility the rest of the night. It had been awkward, to say the least. 

The glow of a lantern pierces through the darkness. The dot of light bobs up and down as the figure holding it moves closer. Zuko readies a ball of flame in his hand. He’s ready to face whoever’s coming near. Around him, the guards lift their spears.

“Zuko! It’s good to see you!” calls a familiar voice. And in the light of his lantern and Zuko’s fire, Sokka’s friendly face emerges.

  
  


.oOo.

  
  


“We only got your messenger hawk yesterday,” Sokka explains, guiding Zuko and his Fire Nation entourage through the village. One of the guards, a burly man with a nose like a head of onion-garlic, spits onto the snow. 

“Shoma,” Zuko scolds, sharp and heated. “Treat this village with the same respect as you would any Fire Nation city. That’s disgusting.”

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” Shoma bows, his armor clunking as he retreats into the safety of the group of guards. 

“Nice one,” Sokka laughs. “Listen, you don’t need all these guards here. You’re totally safe as long as you’re with me.” He waggles his eyebrows and flexes dramatically. It startles a short laugh out of Zuko. Something in Sokka’s stomach curls happily at being the one to cause that.

“I promised Uncle that I’d keep the guards around me all the time,” Zuko sighs, looking very tired. “It was part of the reason he let me come down here.”

“Well, I guess if you insist,” Sokka says, leading Zuko to a large igloo at the end of the road. “Here’s the brand-new ambassador’s igloo. Never been used, state-of-the-art, all the best accommodations for our one-and-only Fire Lord. Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Sokka,” Zuko says wearily. Now that Sokka’s looking closer and has his lantern next to Zuko’s face, he can see that his friend has deep bags beneath his eyes, and that he walks with a distinctly unroyal slump, like he can’t wait to lie down. The front of his hair is starting to fall out from his topknot, and the Fire Lord crown is just the slightest bit crooked. In the faint glow of Sokka’s lantern, Zuko’s crimson robes stand out like blood on snow. They look like the only colored thing in the world. 

“Y’know, it’s dark out all the time now,” Sokka shrugs. “Being winter and all. So if you want, I could come by later? Help you get settled in? I’m sure you’re tired from the trip.”

“Thanks,” Zuko repeats. He runs one hand over his face. “Maybe I’ll try to rest for a bit. Where’s Katara?”

“She’s off with Aang on some Avatar mission,” Sokka answers. “Something about rebuilding an Earth Kingdom village? They’re _always_ travelling.” 

“You used to travel all the time too,” Zuko says, raising one eyebrow. “Or do you not remember how I chased you halfway across the world?”

“Well, I prefer a more sedentary lifestyle nowadays,” Sokka sniffs, with a false-snobbish air that’s pulled right from fancy Fire Nation nobility. Zuko smiles, and this time it’s real.

“It’s good to see you again, Sokka,” he says. “I’ll see you later.” He slips into the ambassador’s igloo. Sokka watches Zuko’s guards file in, their heavy metal armor clunking as they duck inside. A year ago, their very presence in the South Pole would be the cause for terror. Now, they’re here to help. Or so it seems. The way the one man, Shoma, had spit on the snow sticks in Sokka’s mind. 

And so Sokka’s left alone, holding his weak lantern and his nerves together in one gloved hand. He starts making his way back to his own igloo. Living with Gran-Gran and his dad has been stifling recently. He’s the only teenager now that Katara’s off travelling the world, and he misses his sister and friends something fierce. Home is familiar, and of course he loves it, but home is boring. Sokka’s seen the world! He hardly has any interest in helping build new igloos, especially when the new northern waterbenders can do it in about three seconds flat. 

So Sokka had been excited for Zuko’s arrival. It meant seeing his friend every day, not just at the international meetings and peace summits that always bore Sokka half to death. But now, seeing the guards and Zuko’s tired face, he’s not so sure how he feels.

In an odd way, the war had helped Sokka. He’d felt significant. Helpful. He’d led an invasion! He’d defeated the entire Fire Nation airship fleet with only his friends and faithful boomerang and sword. He’d made a mark on history, and he was proud of it. But the war is over now. 

As Sokka passes by the deep, oddly sharp footprints left by the Fire Nation guards, he turns that thought over in his mind. _The war is over now._

The war is over now, and Sokka is more powerless than ever.

  
  


.oOo.

  
  


Zuko wakes from a restless nap a few hours later. He has no idea what time it is; it’s still dark out, and his connection to the sun feels oddly strained. He wraps himself in his scarlet cloak, wrestles his hair into a topknot, and emerges from the igloo. Huang the guard stumbles after him.

“Sokka?” Zuko calls into the frigid air. The wind seems to swipe his voice away. The path that leads to the igloo is on a main street. Zuko doesn’t recognize it from his last time here, back when he was hunting Aang. But the entire village looks so much bigger now, especially in the endless dark. Lines of igloos, illuminated from the inside, stand like frozen sentries along the street. 

There’s a scuffling sound from behind Zuko. Zuko turns and lifts one hand, bending a flame to act as a lamp. He squints into the darkness. For a breathless moment, he sees nothing. Then there’s a sharp, wailing shriek, and a flurry of movement. Zuko almost puts his flame out in surprise.

Snow scatters as a little kid, maybe six or seven, rushes into the igloo across the street. She slips in her too-big boots and tumbles to the ground. Zuko watches, dumbfounded for a moment as the girl frantically rattles the doorknob of her igloo.

“Momma! Let me in! Momma!” The girl wails. She sounds terrified.

“What’s going on?” calls Huang from behind Zuko. “Is there something happening?”

Zuko only stares in silence as the igloo door opens. A burst of golden light pours out from inside. A kind-looking woman with long brown hair and a blue tunic peers out.

“Sima, what are you doing?” 

The girl only rushes inside in response, hugging her mother’s leg. The woman glances up. She sees Zuko and his guard, and confusion flickers across her face. For a moment there’s silence. Then the woman’s eyes widen, landing on the ball of flame in Zuko’s hand, and she slams the igloo door shut.

Zuko’s flame extinguishes, and he’s doused in darkness.

  
  


.oOo.

  
  


The next morning dawns cold and dim. The sun burns low and red, the color reminding Zuko of dried blood.

“So, how goes your first official visit to the Southern Water Tribe? Are you astounded? Fascinated? Amazed beyond all comparison?” Sokka asks, sidling up behind Zuko. It’s apparently mealtime, even though the sun’s still down. They’re in some sort of large communal dining hall, and most people seem to be eating right off each other’s plates. But Zuko’s not hungry.

“It’s fine,” Zuko says shortly, biting into his breakfast. It’s some sort of fish with a hot drink. The fish is startlingly salty, and Zuko barely restrains himself from making a disgusted face. He knows how he must look already to the people here; he doesn’t need to disrespect them further by openly disliking their food.

“Just fine? Come on,” Sokka urges, dropping down to sit next to Zuko. “I’m sure it’s just because you haven’t seen much of it yet. I’ll take you on a tour. Remember my watchtower? They rebuilt it, it looks great! So much bigger. And you haven’t even seen the town hall. That’s where you’ll have most of your meetings with my dad, probably.”

“Town hall?” Zuko tilts his head. Maybe it’s like the Caldera City palace. He’s never heard of such a place.

“Yeah, it’s brand new.” Sokka grabs a fish off of Zuko’s plate and swallows it in one bite. “It’s pretty incredible, the waterbenders really went all out. Man, construction is _so_ much faster with benders around.”

More people are starting to file into the dining hall. They stare at Zuko as they walk past. Whispers flicker across the icy walls. He realizes how much he sticks out, in his red cloak and black robes against the blues and whites of most people’s outfits. And his Fire Lord crown isn’t exactly inconspicuous. Zuko feels dozens of gazes burn holes into him. They bounce right off Sokka, who carries on stealing Zuko’s breakfast happily.

“Look, there’s my dad. Hey, Dad! Look who arrived last night!” he calls, waving to his father and pointing at Zuko. Chief Hakoda, impressive and powerful as always, waves back with a grin as he takes his own seat next to another warrior.

“Who’s the guy next to him?” Zuko vaguely recognizes the man. He thinks he might have been at his coronation. 

“Oh, that’s Bato,” Sokka says through a mouthful of food. “He’s my dad’s second in command.” 

Hakoda says something to Bato, chin tilted up to look at the taller warrior. Bato nods and then looks directly at Zuko. Even from a distance, Zuko can feel the intensity of his gaze. It doesn’t feel nearly as friendly as Hakoda’s had been.

Zuko remembers how the little girl had run into her igloo last night, panicking to run from his flame. How the girl’s mother had slammed the door. How his own door, this morning, had been iced shut. He’d chalked it up to strange weather, but now he’s not so sure. And he remembers how Shoma had spit into the snow. How Zuko had been the one who wrecked Sokka’s watchtower in the first place. How the Fire Nation had hurt this place and these people.

“They hate me,” Zuko says suddenly. “And they should. All I represent to your people is suffering.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sokka, how did you think people would react to me being here? Last time I was, I broke through the wall and attacked you. They hate me.”

“Huh. Yeah,” Sokka cringes, glancing around for the first time at his fellow Water Tribe members. “But they’ll get over it, right? I did. Don’t worry about it.”

Zuko shakes his head. “It’s not that easy. I deserve all the hate I get.” 

Sokka’s mouth drops open. “What! Who said that?” Zuko only shrugs in response.

Sokka reaches out to touch Zuko’s shoulder. Zuko catches his hand before it lands. His palm is warm and calloused, with tan, nimble fingers. Sokka freezes.

“Look, Sokka,” Zuko says, resigned. “They’re allowed to hate me. I did terrible things in the past. Things I’m ashamed I did. But they happened.” Zuko looks Sokka right in the eye, gold meeting blue. Sokka stares back. Zuko hardly ever makes direct eye contact, but he forces himself to look. He needs Sokka to understand. Sokka is the _only one_ who will understand. 

“So… do you want me to help?” Sokka asks, cautious. 

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Zuko sighs. “I can apologize to the world all I want, but the fact is that I hurt these people. I’m the leader of an entire _nation_ who hurt these people. I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

“That’s not fair to yourself,” Sokka protests. “I’m sure they’ll come around.”

“But if they don’t?”

“Then they don’t,” Sokka says. “Look, they’re allowed to be angry. We’ve been hurt a lot. It’s not like I’m about to go tell everyone in the village to automatically love you. But I think you’ll show them that you _have_ earned forgiveness. Give it time. You’re gonna help us, even if not everyone sees that. I know that. My dad knows that. Everyone else will… they’ll come around.”

“Just… be there for me, okay?” Zuko asks. Sokka’s grip tightens in his hand. Zuko feels very small. “I need to know I have one ally here.”

“Of course,” Sokka replies immediately. “Of course.”


	2. the heart's a two-faced fortune teller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Sokka are such idiots, I adore them. This is where the action picks up a tad more, so enjoy!

II. 

For the first few weeks in his stay in the Southern Water Tribe, Zuko doesn’t interact much with anyone except for Sokka, Chief Hakoda, the Council of Elders, and his guards. People skirt around him like he might lash out at any moment. He negotiates trade deals (apparently they don’t have spices in the South Pole, which secretly horrifies Zuko) and plans reparations bills. He takes notes to organize better education on other cultures in the Fire Nation public school system. He avoids his guards. He writes letters to Uncle, who proudly writes back that the first National Tea Celebration Day was a success.

Zuko and Sokka begin walking back from meetings together, even when Sokka doesn’t need to be there. He claims it’s because he doesn’t want Zuko to get lost in the dark, but Zuko has his firebending. They don’t discuss it. 

Once, after a long day of meetings, Sokka and Zuko are walking out of the town hall. The lobby is filled with Water Tribe members who stare at Zuko. He shrinks a little under their gaze. Even though he’s been here a few weeks, they still treat him like he’s going to suddenly go berserk. Zuko supposes he can’t blame them. A year ago, they’d have been right. As Sokka and Zuko step out into the biting wind, Sokka digs around in his pockets. Zuko stops to wait.

“I think I left my mittens upstairs,” Sokka says. “I’ll be right back.” He turns to go back up the ice staircase.

“Wait,” Zuko follows. “Can I come with you?” Somehow, standing here alone in the lobby, with all these blue eyes following his every move, makes him slightly panicked. His guards aren’t exactly a help either. They’ve been slacking off since they realized that Zuko doesn’t really want them around. Two of them are lingering by the staircase, huddling together and holding a small flame for warmth. Wimps. 

“If you want,” Sokka shrugs, already halfway up the stairs. “Come on.”

They walk back up the stairs. Zuko’s guards don’t even notice when they walk right by them. Sokka ducks his head into the room where the meeting had taken place; it’s deserted.

“I don’t see them,” he says, stepping inside. He looks under the table and by the chair he was sitting in. No mittens.

“Maybe you left them in your dad’s office?” Zuko asks. “You were in there talking to him before.”

“You’re probably right,” Sokka agrees. They make their way down the hall to Chief Hakoda’s office. The door is slightly ajar. Sokka bounds ahead and opens it fully. 

“Hey Dad! Did you see my mittens any--” Sokka pauses. “Oh, sorry.” He quickly scoots out of the room. Zuko follows him, peering inside.

Hakoda is standing against the large desk, clearly caught by surprise. He’s holding some sort of jar that smells strongly of something dense and spicy, and oddly familiar. Bato is sitting on the desk, one arm extended. Zuko realizes with a start that the two men are very close together.

“Your mittens are here, Sokka,” Hakoda says, setting down the jar. He reaches around Bato and grabs a pair of mittens from the desk, careful to avoid touching them with his paste-covered hand. He tosses the mittens to Sokka. 

Bato stares back at Zuko. His extended arm looks strange in the dull shadows, and Zuko thinks for a fleeting second that there’s a tattoo covering Bato’s entire left side, coated in the same paste as Hakoda’s hand. The smell of whatever’s in Hakoda’s jar hits Zuko again. It smells like hours in the ship infirmary, like terror after waking up and realizing that he can’t open his eye fully, like his head being cold after his scalp was shaved naked. Like Uncle Iroh’s gentle hand on his face, and tender skin sparking red-hot under the slightest touch. He realizes what it is.

“You have a burn,” Zuko blurts, before he can stop himself. There’s a beat of silence.

“Yes, I do,” Bato says. His voice is ice-cold and devoid of emotion.

Sokka steps between Zuko and the doorway, effectively cutting Zuko off from the room. A tiny part of Zuko’s mind thanks his friend for rescuing him from digging himself even deeper into this disastrous hole. The rest of his brain screams in mortification. Zuko remembers that Bato had fought against firebenders in the war, and he knows burns intimately. It doesn’t take a deductive genius to figure out what had happened.

“Thanks for holding onto my mittens, Dad. Have a good night!” Sokka calls, false-bright, as he backs out of the room, nudging Zuko along with him. The wind outside is bitterly cold, snapping at Zuko’s face. The right side prickles in the chill; the left side, as always, feels dulled and stiff under the cold. 

“You jerk, why’d you say that?” Sokka growls. “I know you’ve never heard of tact before, but that was pretty rude, even for you.”

“What?” Zuko stumbles back. The violent wind loosens his topknot, and the crown leans precariously. Sokka looks more furious than he’s ever seen. His wolf tail is sliding to one side, strands catching in his eyelashes. His eyes are blue fire.

“What do you mean, what? I can’t  _ believe  _ you sometimes.”

“I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking. Ugh, I  _ never _ think!” Zuko smacks his forehead, replaying the embarrassment in his head. 

“Well, you might want to start trying to,” Sokka shoots back, his voice rising. “Considering that  _ you’re _ the one whose thinking is affecting everyone here! Everyone in the world!” He makes a forceful sweeping gesture. 

“I  _ know! _ You think I don’t know that? You have no idea how much pressure I’m under. Being Fire Lord isn’t exactly easy!” Zuko feels like exploding. He’d thought Sokka  _ understood _ him. 

Sokka’s face twists into a complicated expression for a second. “You’re right. I have no idea.” He turns away. 

“No, wait, Sokka—” Zuko calls out, but it’s too late. Sokka’s already run off, vanishing into the black wind of the night. 

  
  


.oOo.

  
  


After Zuko goes back to his room, he can’t get Bato’s burn out of his head. It’s a _ big  _ burn, even though it’s healed well. The burn cream that Hakoda was using is the heavy-duty stuff, used for nerve damage and the intense pain that seemed to flare up randomly on Zuko’s face for months after his banishment began. The smell, somehow, tugs forth memories he’d thought were forgotten in that haze of hurt. 

Zuko runs one hand over his scar. It’s smooth and warm, raised against the rest of his skin. Painless. He pulls out his crown and topknot, breathing a sigh of relief. His hair is longer now than it’s ever been since before the Agni Kai. Sometimes, he doesn’t even realize how uncomfortable wearing it up all the time feels like, until he takes it out of the topknot. The metal crown is heavy, and pulls on his scalp.

He thinks of Sokka’s expression again, the one he’d made right before he’d left. It cracks Zuko’s chest in two. 

He realizes, with a start, that he’s never really seen Sokka truly angry. Even when they’d been enemies in battle, or when Zuko had shown up at the Western Air Temple. Zuko’s seen Katara angry more times than he can count, but her brother has always seemed so centered. Even when Sokka’s upset, he doesn’t show it. But tonight he  _ had _ been angry. At Zuko. 

If there’s one emotion Zuko knows, it’s anger. He lived three years drowning in it. But it was never _ just _ anger. It was hurt, and shame, and fear of never being enough. How can Sokka, the shining boy, with the easy grin and the loving family, ever feel that way?

But Sokka  _ has _ known hurt, Zuko realizes. Most of it was inflicted by Zuko and his nation. All of the people in the Water Tribes have felt that pain. 

It’s up to Zuko to change that. 

He gets his cloak and boots. They’re not enough for the weather outside, but there isn’t time. Zuko flings open the door. The wind bites and wails at his face. The ghosts of Water Tribe warriors and benders who perished by his family’s hand. What a cheery thought. He tugs his cloak tighter around himself, breathing out a little flame. The air in front of him wavers and steams. 

Zuko’s never been good at apologies. Part stubbornness, part awkwardness, part fear. When he was younger, Azula would sometimes say something mean, that he’d never be good at firebending or that father hated him, and he would hit her or yell at her back. Mother always made them apologize. Then she vanished, and Azula realized she could get away with anything she wanted. Apologies came few and far between after that.

Apologizing hadn’t helped Zuko much in the Agni Kai. 

But Sokka is worth it. Sokka is worth  _ everything _ to Zuko. It’s a grounding realization. 

Zuko’s never been much for plans, either. Where is he going to find Sokka? All the igloos have little identifiers in front, snowmen marking homes with kids, intricate ice sculptures decorating the front of waterbenders’ houses. Surely the chief’s home will be the biggest. But there’s no palace, not like Caldera City. Somehow, Zuko can’t imagine Chief Hakoda hidden away in some jewel-encrusted chamber like Fire Nation royalty. He wanders up and down the rows of igloos, peering as unsuspiciously as he can into each one. None of them look very promising.

A flash of light catches his eye. A lantern. It reminds Zuko viscerally of his arrival, when Sokka had greeted him with a grin in the dark. He aches for that moment to be back.

“Excuse me? Is someone there?” Zuko calls into the wind. The lantern bobs like a searching spirit. 

“Fire Lord Zuko?” a voice calls back. The lantern moves closer, and stops. Bato’s face appears in its glow.

Zuko stumbles over his own feet. His ball of fire goes out. Shit. Shit. He tries to bring it back, but his hands are numb from cold and fear. Of all the people to find. The wind is blinding.

“Are you looking for Sokka?” Bato asks. “He’s inside.”

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Zuko squeaks out. “I’m sorry to bother you.” He turns to make his escape.

“Wait, Zuko,” Bato reaches out. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“I apologize for my earlier remarks,” Zuko says, feeling distant from his own body. He sounds stiff and utterly formal. “I swear on my honor, I meant no disrespect.”

Bato stares at him funny for a second, and Zuko wants to melt into a puddle right there in the snow. Agni, why does he open his stupid mouth? 

“Fire Lord Zuko, I know you meant no disrespect,” Bato replies. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.” He raises his lantern. “I think we may have some misunderstanding.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that since you’ve been here, I’ve been awfully rude,” Bato says bluntly. “And I haven’t treated you with the warm welcome the Water Tribe is supposed to bring.”

“Are you apologizing?” Zuko asks incredulously. 

“In a way,” Bato says. “Sokka sings your praises all the time. It took me quite some time to believe him. The Fire Nation has not been kind to my people.”

Even when Sokka hates him, he’s still the kindest person in the world. He’s still, somehow, on Zuko’s side. Even when he shouldn’t be. Zuko shakes his head. It shouldn’t be Bato apologizing, it should be Zuko, when did this turn into--

“I think we might be more similar than you think, Fire Lord Zuko. I was burned by firebenders during the war,” Bato continues. He transfers his lantern to his left hand and draws up the right sleeve of his jacket. Under the dim glow of the lantern, his burn scars rope dark lines across his skin. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Zuko’s fingertips ignite again, and the fire lights up their faces. He meets Bato’s eyes, defiant. He does not owe this man his story.

“Because I understand you, Zuko. In more ways than one.” Bato turns towards the fire. His illuminated profile is tall and proud. “Not just about burns.” He brushes his fingers across his own cheek, and Zuko mirrors him unconsciously. The ridges of his scar feel smooth and ice-cold. He drops his hand.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Zuko says.

“Hakoda’s kind. Smart. Terrible sense of humor.” He turns back to Zuko, meeting his eyes. “And for me, he was magnetic. I couldn’t pull myself away.”

Zuko thinks abruptly about how close Bato and Hakoda had stood earlier that day in Hakoda’s office. How Bato had been Hakoda’s second-in-command. How Sokka looked up to him like a second father. 

“Oh. You’re--” Zuko blinks. 

“Yes,” Bato says. “But I didn’t tell you this for no reason.”

“What are you talking about?” Zuko asks. But he already knows. It creeps into his mind like spreading frost, like a wildfire burning through a forest. He knows, he knows, he  _ knows _ .

“Sokka’s a lot like his father.” Bato turns away. His lantern casts a golden shadow across the snow. “Good night, Fire Lord Zuko. You’re lucky to have a friend like Sokka.” As he walks away, his footsteps crunch in the snow. 

“I know,” Zuko whispers, too late. “I am.”

Zuko’s never been lucky. But maybe, for once, he is.

  
  


.oOo.

  
  


Sokka sharpens his sword with careful, exacting precision. It’s an easy routine, built from months of practice, the whetstone a blank slate of mindless activity. Here, he doesn’t have to think about Zuko, or the war, or the way everything has changed. 

He doesn’t think about how the very sword he’s sharpening was the same one he created and wielded, then lost during the war. And then found again, after months of scouring the ashes of Earth Kingdom forests. The blade had been shattered and Toph had to metalbend it back together. Sokka runs one finger across the seam where the blade’s been reattached. It’s smooth and cold under his skin. 

Maybe he should go find Zuko and apologize.

No, he won’t. He’s not in the wrong. Sokka is always the one who has to fix things, always the one who has to lead and teach and protect and fight and he’s  _ so _ , so tired of it. He’s breaking the cycle. This time, Zuko will come to him. 

But he’s aching for that easy companionship back. After Zuko’s constant presence by his side these few weeks, Sokka feels like something behind him is missing. It hadn’t been that Zuko filled the silence with conversation. But he’d filled space, and he’d always listened to Sokka’s chatter as they sharpened their swords together or planned for one of Zuko’s endless Fire Lord meetings. 

No one else listens to Sokka the way Zuko does. Even when he’s sure he’s being annoying, Zuko will sit there and listen, acting like what Sokka says is intelligent and entertaining. And Zuko’s about as good an actor as a baby komodo-rhino, so Sokka doubts Zuko’s faking it to appease Sokka. He really does like listening to Sokka’s ramblings and bad jokes. 

Sokka’s other friends don’t do that. Katara always rolls her eyes, and Toph makes fun of him relentlessly. Suki and Aang always want to have meaningful conversations about emotions or something. But Sokka likes the easy banter he can build with Zuko, likes knowing that Zuko’s mock scowls are actually his version of smiles and his smiles, when Sokka can achieve them, are bursts of laughter. It makes accomplishing one all that much sweeter.

There’s a knock on the door. Sokka’s blade slips off the whetstone in his surprise, and he nearly chops his leg off in his haste to avoid slicing his hand open. The metal clatters to the ground with a loud clang. 

“Come in,” he calls, snatching his blade up and trying to act natural. The door creaks, unsure. Huh. Weird. Usually his dad or Bato would come right in. Katara wouldn’t even knock. 

Maybe it’s Zuko, coming to apologize. Sokka’s not usually an optimist, but he can’t help but hold out hope. He sheaths his blade into its scabbard and walks over to the door.

“Zuko? Is that you?” Why isn’t he coming in? “You’re being weird, dude. Come inside.”

No answer. The door trembles a bit, maybe from the wind, or maybe from Zuko hesitating. Sokka sighs. He’s really going to do this?

“Listen, Zuko, I shouldn’t have overreacted earlier. I’m sorry,” Sokka calls. “Now come inside. Aren’t you cold out there?” Still no answer. Zuko’s never been good at sitting in silence, always restless and loud and  _ present _ . Sokka has the realization that this might not be Zuko, and that he might have just made a fool of himself. He walks over to the door to open it.

“I’m sorry, I think I was mistaken. Who’s there-- agh!” Sokka stumbles back as a burst of flame appears in his vision. He ducks, off-balance and disoriented. 

“It’s not the Fire Lord,” snarls Shoma, readying another blast of fire.

“Wha--? Shoma? What are you doing?” Sokka stumbles back, groping wildly for the table. Zuko’s guard’s expression is sharp and cold, lit up from his sparking hands. Sokka snatches his sword off the table. His hands are trembling, but there’s a simple calm about the fear. Sokka knows how to defend himself. In one smooth swipe, he unsheathes his blade, blocking Shoma’s fireball. The burst of flames spins wildly into the wall of the igloo, and Sokka realizes too late what’s going to happen. 

“You idiot, we’re in an IGLOO!” Sokka shouts, dodging a flaming fist. This place is going to collapse, and he needs to get out before it does. 

“Never mind that,” Shoma shouts back, his eyes wild and bright, gold turning molten red in the firelight. Sokka is reminded viscerally of Admiral Zhao, how he’d looked when he’d killed the moon all those months ago. Another jolt of terror flashes through Sokka.

Sokka ducks another fireball, trying to reach the exit. The wall opposite him is starting to crumble, caving in from the inside. Shoma is blocking the door, though, and with one jerky swipe of his hands, the ground between them bursts into flames. Sokka glances around wildly, but there’s no other way out. The window is too high up to reach, and unless Sokka wants to get squished by chunks of solid ice, he won’t be able to get out through the collapsing wall.

“Fire Lord Zuko may have forgotten what being part of the Fire Nation means, but I have not!” Shoma’s voice is shrill. “You may have tricked him, but you savages won’t trick the rest of the Fire Nation! We are the superior race! The only people who should survive! My time here has only taught me that what we learned in the Fire Nation was the truth!”

“Dude, you are  _ crazy!” _ Sokka shouts. “How does attacking me do anything?”

“Do you really believe the new Fire Lord truly cares for this collection of ice blocks you call a tribe? Once we’re rid of you, he has no reason to stay here.” Shoma aims another burst of flames, and Sokka ducks. But he realizes, a second too late, that Shoma wasn’t aiming for him. He looks up just in time.

“Shit!” Sokka drops into a roll, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the rapidly-collapsing ceiling. “You’re going to take this whole place down! With yourself in it!” But Shoma is still blocking the exit, and Sokka can’t get past the wall of flames that’s threatening to melt the very foundations of the igloo to the ground.

“That won’t be a problem,” Shoma laughs, his face utterly twisted. He’s everything Sokka feared before the war, everything that the whole tribe feared. Fire Nation. Ruthless. Willing to burn the world to the ground. 

Shoma lets loose another burst of flames, then turns and kicks open the door. Sokka makes a lunge for it.

Then there’s a burst of flames of every color, and Sokka’s blinded by light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger lol


	3. spinning knives with luckless lovers, time, and fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to all for sticking with this story. i hope you enjoy!

III.

Zuko sees the crowd before he sees the smoke. He’s looking for his guards — somehow, they’ve all mysteriously disappeared — but there’s some sort of commotion going on. 

“What’s going on?” he asks at a man running past.

“Wouldn’t you know!” the man snarls back, bending snow into water in his palms. “And you thought you had us fooled!”

Zuko blinks, too shocked to respond, and the man runs off. Then he smells smoke. Where is it coming from? His depth perception is terrible on a normal day, and in the darkness it’s hard to tell what’s going on. But he can see, in the distance, a red glow that looks suspiciously like flame on ice. 

“Is someone’s igloo on fire?” Zuko yells. “I can help put it out!”

“Zuko! Did you know about this?” Chief Hakoda’s voice pushes above the din. The fear in it sounds utterly foreign. Zuko sees the chief, running through the crowd towards him. His face is dark and stricken.

Hakoda shoves through the crowd. Zuko moves to meet him, but suddenly there’s a spear in front of his nose and a furious chief snarling in his face.

“Did you or did you not know about this?” Hakoda’s blue eyes are chips of ice.

“Know about what? I swear on my honor, I have no idea what’s going on,” Zuko says, heart flapping like a terrified humming-toad’s wings. 

“Two of your guards have been arrested for attacking Water Tribe members today. Why weren’t you with them? What were they planning?” Hakoda jabs his spear forward, an inch away from Zuko’s chest. “Answer me!”

“I don’t know!” Zuko looks around for his guards, but he can’t see them anywhere. “What are you talking about? Who was arrested?”

“Huang and Shen Guo.”

“What about Shoma?” Zuko asks. “Where is he?”

The realization hits him a second too late. He glances at the smoke again. He looks at Hakoda, but the chief’s face has gone slack, staring at the burning igloo.

“That’s our igloo,” he says. “Sokka’s in there.”

Zuko doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s already running.

As he nears Sokka’s igloo, he can see it starting to crumble. The back wall is caving in, and the ground surrounding it is in flames. The whole thing is melting at a horrifyingly rapid pace. People are standing outside, staring. None are trying to help. 

“Out of the way!” Zuko snarls, rushing too much for niceties. He shoves his way past the crowd. The igloo is melting.  _ And Sokka is inside. _

“Is that the Fire Lord?” one voice calls. “Grab him before he can set the whole thing on fire!”

“I can help!” Zuko growls back, but someone’s grabbed his left arm, startling him from his blind side. He barely resists smacking them away. “Let me go!”

“Zuko, what’s going on?” Hakoda’s voice yells over the crowd. 

“He’s probably going to help the guard finish the job!” someone answers, before Zuko can respond. 

“Hold him down!” calls another.

Zuko makes a leap for the igloo door. The hands grasping at his robes seem distant. All he knows is that Sokka is inside and he has to do something. But he  _ can’t _ , not with these people trying to stop him, not with his guards being traitors, not with the way things are. But Sokka is inside. That’s all his brain seems to be aware of right now. He can’t get near the igloo,  _ and he needs to help Sokka. _

“I said, let me GO!” Zuko’s firebending before he realizes it. The burst of fire he releases is fast, and hot, and blindingly bright. The hands release him immediately. Zuko’s fire burns across the ground like it’s covered in dry leaves instead of ice, a rainbow of flames leaping from his palms. He’s stunned for a second at his own ferocity. His heart pounds in his ears.

“The igloo!” someone yells. Zuko looks up, breathing hard.

The snow around him has vaporized completely, and he’s standing on muddy brown ground. The crumbling igloo in front of him is gone. It’s reduced to steam and rubble, the wooden furniture burnt to a crisp and the furs smoldering on the dirt. It’s utterly destroyed.

In the center stands Shoma, smudged and snarling but very much aware. And below him is Sokka, crumpled and shivering, knocked to the ground, his hair steaming from the sudden heat. Both seem stunned for a moment.

Zuko surges forward. “Don’t  _ touch _ him!” 

He leaps at Shoma, his hands lighting. Behind them, people are shouting, but it’s all distant. Zuko’s burning, white-hot fury and fear mixed together. 

Shoma attacked Sokka. He will pay.

  
  


.oOo.

  
  


One moment, Sokka’s lying in the snow, blinded from the sudden light. The next, he’s staring up at Zuko’s face, haloed in flames.

The fire is red, and gold, and green and pink and white and  _ how is Zuko doing that?  _

Zuko is furious and alight with it. He looks dangerous. He looks beautiful. He looks like a dream, and a nightmare, and every nerve in Sokka’s body sings.

And then Zuko’s yelling something and attacking Shoma, golden flames leaping like eager dragons in his palms. The air boils.

Sokka stumbles up, nearly slipping on the muddy ground. His head throbs. Everything’s so _loud_. People yelling, trying to run away from the fight. His dad, calling above the crowd, trying to calm everyone down. Zuko’s fury, incendiary. Shoma’s sudden panic as Zuko launches another burst of firebending. It needs to stop, it needs to _stop, stop stop stop--_

“STOP!” Sokka yells, his hands over his ears. 

And it stops. 

And suddenly Zuko’s jumping off of Shoma, wiping away melted ice and dirt from his cheeks; and suddenly he’s grabbing Sokka by the shoulders, eyes wide and panicked; and suddenly Sokka feels very, very tired. They stand there for a second, breathing hard, staring at each other. The silence suspends, frozen. The ground is burning. The air crackles with heat.

“Are you alright?” Sokka whispers. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Zuko responds breathlessly, too quickly. “What just happened?”

“Your guard’s a traitor,” Sokka says, blinking hard. “And I think you just saved me.” 

Sokka tears his gaze away from Zuko. Shoma’s still on the ground, looking dazed. In the flickering firelight, he looks sickly and harsh. Out-of-place. Sokka feels strangely empty.

“Arrest him,” Zuko says, voice rough. “Like Sokka said, he’s a traitor.”

Hakoda nods, gesturing to some of the men standing there watching. They move to grab Shoma, hefting him up and tying his wrists. Sokka and Zuko stand there together, watching Shoma struggle and fight, and watching the Water Tribe men wrestle him into submission. 

“Sokka, are you alright?” Hakoda asks, rushing over to where they’re standing. Sokka tries to nod, but another wave of pain in his head almost makes him collapse. He gasps, slumping into Zuko, who grips him.

“Are you alright? Oh, Agni, there’s something wrong,” Zuko says, looking panicked. “What do we do?”

“I’m fine,” Sokka grunts. “Not even a scratch.”

“Nonsense, Sokka,” Hakoda says, waving over Healer Yuna from where she’s inspecting the spitting-mad Shoma with interest. “Yuna, would you please take Sokka over to the healing hut? I suspect he might have a concussion.”

“I do _ not _ have a concussion!” Sokka argues. Suddenly his vision blurs, and he almost topples over sideways. Zuko steadies him and gives him a look. “Okay, fine, maybe I have a concussion.”

“Come this way,” Healer Yuna says, gesturing for Sokka to follow. He almost starts walking, but then stops when Zuko grabs him.

“Can-- uh-- can I come?” Zuko asks Healer Yuna. “You know, to help Sokka just in case he falls?”

“Of course,” says Healer Yuna, a knowing grin spreading on her face. “Just in case.” Sokka frowns.

“What are you talking about? Ow, actually, healing first, questions later,” Sokka says as a fresh wave of pain bursts through his head. He and Zuko follow Healer Yuna to the healing hut, Sokka relying on Zuko to keep him steady a bit more than he’d care to admit. Yuna lets them inside, and Zuko carefully sets Sokka down by the bed.

“Sokka,” he whispers, almost too soft for Sokka to hear. “Are you, uh. Are you still mad at me?”

“What?” Sokka blinks. “Why would I be mad at you?”

“Because of Bato?”

“Oh. Right.” It seems weirdly distant now. 

“And because I apparently brought a group of murderous Fire Nation supremacists to the South Pole?” Zuko slumps down into the chair next to the bed. “The political implications… this is going to ruin any trust I might have gained…”

Yuna bends glowing water into a frigid ring around Sokka’s head. He winces at the cold. Zuko had been so bright before, like a crusading light in the darkness, coming to Sokka’s rescue. But now he looks exhausted, crownless and rubbing at one arm like it’s bothering him. Sokka’s head is feeling clearer now, with the healing doing its work quickly, and he’s thinking clearly enough to make some important realizations.

One: Zuko had just saved him. That means something more to Sokka than he can confidently grasp at the moment.

Two: Zuko is sitting there, somehow looking  _ guilty _ , and he’s waiting for an answer.

“We’re fine, man,” Sokka says. “And the council will get over it.” Hopefully. Zuko looks down, clearly unconvinced, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“I think you’ll be fine, Sokka, as long as you get some rest and don’t run around like you usually do,” Healer Yuna says, bending her water away and dropping it into a large jar. “Now, Fire Lord, let’s see your arm.”

“My arm?”

“Did you think I couldn’t sense it? I’m a healer,” Yuna sniffs. “I’m shocked you didn’t ask me to heal it sooner.”

“Wait, what’s wrong with your arm?” Sokka asks. “You got hurt?”

Zuko shrugs. “It’s no big deal, it was just an assassination attempt.”

Sokka’s jaw drops. “JUST an assassination attempt?” 

Zuko rolls his eyes and pulls off his cloak, rolling up the sleeve of his red tunic. Sure enough, there’s a long cut standing out against his pale bicep, looking angry and inflamed. Healer Yuna tuts and leans over.

“You ripped your stitches,” she says, bending clean water out of another jar. “Haven’t your Fire Nation healers ever heard of waterbending? I’ll be done with this in a minute.”

Zuko gives Sokka a wide-eyed look over Yuna’s pile of braided hair. Sokka just shrugs in response. Yuna heals the cut as quickly as promised, the cut fading to pink and then pale white, hardly a line of a scar left. 

Yuna hurries off into the back room soon after, muttering something about getting something for Sokka’s head. Zuko and Sokka sit there, staring at each other. The adrenaline rush of before seems very far away. Sokka curls his toes in his thick socks.

“So…. assassination attempt?” he asks, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Because  _ what _ has Zuko not been telling him?

“It’s not as if they’re unusual,” Zuko grumbles, rolling his sleeve down. 

Sokka sits up. “Uh, yes! They are unusual!”

“You just had one,” Zuko points out. Sokka sputters for a moment. 

“Well, yeah, but-- that was the first ever!” Sokka exclaims. “Wait, how many have you had?”

“The month before I came here, four,” Zuko says. “In total? Maybe... fifty? Sixty?” He sounds so calm about it.

Fifty or sixty. Sokka pulls his knees up to his chest. He could have lost Zuko, fifty or sixty times, and nobody even told him. Something hollows out his gut.

“Zuko, how come you never told any of us about this?” Because that’s almost what hurts more. That Zuko was living through this, alone.

“I didn’t want to bother any of you,” Zuko says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Aang knew I’d had a few, there was one when he visited a while ago. But I told him it was rare. They’ve gotten more frequent the past few months.”

Sokka scoots to the edge of the bed and grabs Zuko’s hand. He turns it over in his own hand and squeezes their palms together. The contact feels tenuous, fragile but firm. 

“Zuko, you’d never be  _ bothering _ us,” Sokka says. “Is this why you came to the South Pole?”

“Yeah. There’s an insurgent group, they’re called -- uh, they’re called the New Ozai Society.” He looks down. “I don’t want to talk about this, actually.”

“In a way I’m thankful,” Sokka says, without thinking, and Zuko’s eyes shoot up to meet his own. “Not that I want your life in danger, obviously! Just, you know. That you came here.”

“I’m thankful too,” Zuko says, then blinks as if he didn’t expect himself to admit it. “It’s been… it’s been nice here.” He curls his fingers around Sokka’s own. Sokka doesn’t pull away. He couldn’t if he tried. The air is still and frigid. Zuko’s hand is warm.

“What’s going to happen next?” Sokka asks. 

Zuko bites his lip. “I guess… the guards will be put on trial, and get what they deserve. I don’t need them anyway. And... I’ll stay here.” He looks Sokka in the eye. “If you’ll have me.” It means something more. And Sokka understands.

“Of course I will,” Sokka says, too quickly. “But I don’t know about everyone else.” 

“People didn’t trust me before, but I proved them wrong. I can do it again,” Zuko says, grinning suddenly. It lights up his face. A beacon in the night. Forging ahead, in his very Zuko way, refusing to be stamped out. Burning bright in the dark.

And Sokka loves him. He  _ loves _ him. How could he not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading. come visit me and chat on tumblr at chief-yue.tumblr.com!


End file.
